Home
by Crimson-Scissors
Summary: Knuckles turning white, Ritsuka tightened his grip on the phone before flipping it open and holding down '1' on the keypad and holding the phone to his ear. Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up. Ritsuka hoped and wished and prayed for an answer. WARNING: Contains some violence & mentions of child abuse which may be triggering. Light Soubi x Ritsuka.
1. Prologue

Crimson-Scissors LOVELESS Home

**Author's Note**

**WARNING: This fanfiction contains scenes of child abuse, which may be triggering for some people. Also, there are spoilers for the manga up to the end of volume 8. This isn't really heavy on the yaoi/shonen ai but there is some light kissing and hugging between Soubi and Ritsuka.**

**Other than that, please enjoy.**

**~Crimson-Scissors **

**PROLOGUE**

_I am Aoyagi Ritsuka._

_My birthday is 21__st__ December._

_I am thirteen years old._

Stating facts in an attempt to calm himself, Ritsuka huddled by his bed, knees pulled up to his chest. The young boy's thin arms were clasped over his head, desperately trying to cover both his human and cat ears.

_I have a mother and a father._

_Seimei is alive._

_He faked his death._

Outside the locked door of his room, Ritsuka's mother screamed, hurling vases and anything else she could find at her son's bedroom door. She had tested Ritsuka at dinner again. He'd failed. Aoyagi Misaki picked up the kitchen knife she'd dropped on the floor in her hysteria. It was sharp. Very sharp. Screaming at the Ritsuka who was not 'her Ritsuka', the woman stabbed the knife into the door, wood splintered and the knife emerged from the other side of the ruined door. Ritsuka's deep, violet eyes widened at the sight of the gleaming metal now protruding from the thing he thought would keep him safe from his mother. The boy panicked, squeezing his eyes shut, pretending he hadn't seen anything.

_My true name is Loveless._

_I am a Sacrifice._

_Soubi is my Fighter._

Thud. Ritsuka stared at the door again. Everything was silent; that complete and utter kind of silent that was deafening even though there was no sound. Feeling it was safe to get up, the twelve year old walked across the room and pressed one of his human ears against the door; his cat ears were unconsciously pressed flat against his head, showing Ritsuka's fear. He listened. Nothing. Sighing in relief, Ritsuka assumed his mother had passed out, as she often did after having one of her episodes. It was only now, now that he was almost calm, that Ritsuka realised how much damage had been done to him. His arms were covered in cuts and welts that would eventually become bruises. Ritsuka touched a hand to his left cheek, feeling a stinging sensation as his sweaty hand made contact with the open wound.

_Soubi._

Ritsuka's mind drifted back to thoughts of his Sentouki. In that moment, the young teen wanted nothing more than for Soubi to be stood on the small balcony and knock on the French windows. He wanted the older man to embrace him; dress the wounds that he couldn't reach; cook him a meal that wasn't an impossible memory test; give him the refuge of a night away from home. Was that too much to ask? Ritsuka thought that maybe it was. Soubi did so much for him, exceeding what the boy understood to be the duties of a Fighter, and asked for nothing in return. The thoughts of his Sentouki stopped as something caught his attention. Ears twitching, Ritsuka sat up suddenly, his thoughts interrupted by the creaking of floorboards and a scraping sound as his mother prised the kitchen knife out of the door. The silence that followed was endless. Not daring to move, the terrified boy stared at the door; every muscle in his small body was tense.

Without warning, Misaki began screaming again, banging on her son's bedroom door with her fists. Ritsuka dived into the alcove under his desk, the small, enclosed space making him feel somewhat safer. The thirteen year old had no idea what provoked his mother to continue her attack, and now the woman had resumed stabbing the knife into the door, shredding the solid wood like paper. Pulling his knees up to his chest, Ritsuka sobbed silently, clutching the mobile phone strung around his neck while his open wounds seeped blood into his clothes.

"You're not my son!" Misaki screeched, "You're not my Ritsuka!"

The cowering boy let out a small whimper, almost inaudible over his mother's screaming.

"Mum stop. Please, stop."

"Give him back! Give back my Ritsuka!"

"Stop…" tears were streaming down the child's face now, "Stop it, please, mum…"

Knuckles turning white, Ritsuka tightened his grip on the phone before flipping it open and holding down '1' on the keypad and holding the phone to his ear.

_Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up._

Ritsuka hoped and wished and prayed for an answer, repeating those three words like a mantra.

_Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up._

3


	2. Escape

**CHAPTER 1**

**Escape**

Soubi lay on the sofa in his flat, lazily turning the pages of the book he was reading. It was only around 8 O'clock, but the sky was already dark and snow had started to fall, covering Tokyo in a white, powdery blanket. The art student yawned, he'd stayed late at college to finish a project every night that week, and subsequently hadn't spent much time with his sacrifice. The canvas was now propped up on an easel in the corner of the room, the paint drying after Soubi had added the finishing touches. Many of the other students had complimented him on how realistic the painting was: the pair of violet eyes, slightly concealed by purple-tinted hair looked so innocent, but somehow conveyed a slight maturity as well. The painting – an extreme close-up of Ritsuka's eyes – was possibly the twenty two year old's best work, but now the artist almost wished he'd left it at college. Sighing quietly, Soubi pulled his gaze away from the canvas, the likeness of his master's eyes made him crave the boy's company.

The Fighter sighed once more, almost jumping out of his skin when his phone broke the silence of the flat. Soubi recognised Ritsuka's ring-tone right away, rushing to get his phone from his coat pocket, smiling as he saw the picture of Ritsuka on the screen. He was about to answer with 'I was just thinking about you' when he heard a stifled sob from the other end of the line.

"Ritsuka? Ritsuka, are you alright?" Soubi answered, concerned for his younger Sacrifice, "What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

The thirteen year old's voice cracked when he finally spoke, "S-Soubi, can you c-come and get m-me?"

"Yes, of course. What happened? Are you hurt?!" Soubi's voice became more and more panicked as he held the phone between his ear and shoulder, already pulling on a coat and slipping into his shoes. "I'll be right there."

Soubi ran all the way to Ritsuka's house, each panicked breath condensing in the frozen January air. Though the teen hadn't said it, Soubi knew Ritsuka was hurt and he had no doubt that the boy's mother was to blame. The man stayed on the phone to his Sacrifice as he ran and tried to say calming words to Ritsuka between his laboured breaths. It wasn't working.

"R-Ritsuka… What… is that… sound?" Soubi asked, referring to the dull banging in the background, his sentence broken by uneven breaths.

The boy let out a small whimper and cleared his throat before answering, "M-mum's still stabbing the knife in the door… She's calmed down a bit now though…"

Soubi stopped dead in his tracks. "She has a _knife_?! R-Ritsuka, did she h-hurt you with it?" The Sentouki asked, his voice coming out stuttered and uncharacteristically panicked. Soubi started to run again, even faster than before, slipping on the snow slightly in his haste.

"S-she tried to… stab me… but I moved and it just… caught my side a little…" the teen explained.

Soubi noticed that there was no longer any sobbing from the other end of the phone; just slow, calm breathing. He wasn't sure whether this was a good thing or not.

Still huddled under his desk, Ritsuka came to a sudden realisation: his mother had tried to stab him with a knife. _'If I'd have moved a fraction of a second slower,'_ Ritsuka thought, _'I'd be bleeding to death right now.'_ The boy looked down at the right side of his torso, and at the blood seeping through the fabric of his t-shirt. That was definitely going to scar.

Suddenly there was a dull thud as Soubi fell against the glass door, before struggling to open it and almost collapsing into the room. The Fighter felt like his lungs were on fire: heavy, laboured breaths visible even through several layers of unusually baggy clothing, covered in snowflakes. It normally took over an hour to get from Soubi's flat to Ritsuka's house on foot; Soubi had made it in less than 15 minutes.

"Ri… Ritsuka…" the man panted, sitting down on the floor in front of the desk, suddenly seeing the blood, "Oh God…"

Ritsuka crawled out from under the desk and almost flung himself into the arms of his older Fighter. A confusing mix of emotions – relief, fear, love and many others – washed over the thirteen year old, and he began to sob again. Soubi wrapped his arms around Ritsuka, kissing the teenager between his ears as he cried into the taller man's chest. Without warning, the younger male leant up and kissed his Sentouki forcefully on the lips, more for comfort than as a romantic gesture. Said Sentouki was shocked for a moment, before kissing back slowly, cautiously; careful not to startle his younger Sacrifice.

After a short while, Ritsuka pulled away, tears still streaming down his face as he refused to look Soubi in the eyes. The older of the two cupped the younger's face in his large hands and gently guided Ritsuka to look at him. Soubi hushed the crying child and kissed away his tears quietly. After what seemed like a long silence, Ritsuka was the first to speak.

"S-Soubi… Can I stay at your house tonight?" the boy asked coquettishly, as if he was scared of the answer.

"Of course, Ritsuka," Soubi replied, almost too quickly, "can you let me have a look at your injuries? Then I'll help you pack a few things and we can go."

The Sacrifice whimpered a little as he raised his arms to take off his blood-soaked t-shirt. Multi-coloured bruises peppered the boys pale skin, from fading greenish-yellow marks to fresh blue and purple blooms. After so long being with Ritsuka, Soubi had become perversely accustomed to the sight and simply reached into the bottom drawer of the desk to retrieve the first-aid kit he knew was there. The twenty-two year old bandaged the more serious wounds quickly and resolved to treat them properly once they got to his flat. He particularly focused on the deep wound on Ritsuka's right side where the knife had caught him, where Misaki had narrowly missed stabbing Ritsuka in the stomach.

"I could have done that, you know…" Ritsuka complained half-heartedly, feigning displeasure.

His Fighter kissed the boy on the forehead gently, "You're welcome."

As Ritsuka packed some changes of clothes and other belongings, it became increasingly clear to Soubi that his little Sacrifice intended on staying over for more than just one night. The Fighter was relieved by this, as it meant he wouldn't have to try and convince the boy to stay for longer – until he was healed properly – although it troubled him that Ritsuka didn't just _say_ he wanted to stay for a while. Soubi watched as Ritsuka dug through his wardrobe and found the darkest coloured clothes he owned: a pair of ink-black jeans, a grey top with long black sleeves which had a picture of a cat on it, a long dark coat and a grey beanie hat.

Soubi was still watching as Ritsuka pulled the top over his head. "That's a lot of black," the man stated, mostly to himself.

"It'll look weird if the neighbours see me leaving with you this late… I figured they'd be less likely to see me if I dressed like this." Ritsuka replied, undoing the top button of his blood-stained taupe pants, "C-can you turn around or something?"

The Fighter quickly turned to face the door, a hint of pink rising in his cheeks as he realised he'd been watching Ritsuka change. It was only then – then that he wasn't focused on Ritsuka – that Soubi noticed the gleaming metal blade stuck through the door, and all the splintered wood and holes surrounding it.

_'I need to get Ritsuka out of here.'_

As soon as Ritsuka was changed, Soubi grabbed the bag of Ritsuka's belongings and stepped onto the balcony. The Fighter and Sacrifice climbed over the ice-cold railing and carefully lowered themselves down onto the Aoyagi's snow-dusted lawn. Through the window, the two could see that Misaki was asleep on the sofa in the living room. Soubi led Ritsuka down the street by the hand, keeping the young teen close to his side. The boy shivered slightly against the bitter January wind as the snow came down heavier around them.

Suddenly, Ritsuka was conscious of their footsteps.

"Don't worry, Ritsuka, the snow is only getting heavier. The footprints will be gone in not too long." Soubi wrapped an arm around Ritsuka reassuringly, almost reading his Sacrifice's mind.

Ritsuka just hoped he was right.

**Author's Note**

**It was only when proof-reading this that I realised how horrible I'm being to Ritsuka here…  
I'm a terrible person! ****ヽ（゜ロ゜；）ノ****  
I'll be nicer to him in the next chapter though, I promise!**

**Anyway, I know it's taken like a million years for me to update this, but don't forget to review,  
favourite or follow if you like it! ****〜****(****￣▽￣〜****)**

**~Crimson-Scissors**


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